


Circus of the Dead

by orphan_account



Series: Spectacular Sanders Sides Sketchy Scribbles [6]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides
Genre: ...and I guess Patton is kinda the HandUnit?, Based on an AU by welovelogansanders, Character Death, Deceit as Circus Baby, Deceit is Dominic because... this was posted before the whole reveal thing, Emile as Michael, Human Experimentation, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Insanity, Logan as Ballora, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Remus and an OC as Afton, Remy as Funtime Foxy, Roman as Bon Bon, Shock Collars, Sister Location AU, This low-key gets a little dark, Torture, Unethical Experimentation, Unsympathetic OC, Unsympathetic Remus Sanders, Virgil as Funtime Freddy, five nights at freddy's au, fnaf - Freeform, fnaf au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23873203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Roped back into the nightmare they thought they had escaped long ago, Emile and Patton Picani find themselves back in a facility they swore they'd never return to. But things are different, now, and they have their family to save... even if said family is a little different than they remember. Finding themselves in a far more dangerous situation than they planned, the others only have one request."Don't hold it against us."
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders (Implied), Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/OC (implied), Logic | Logan Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders/Dr. Emile Picani
Series: Spectacular Sanders Sides Sketchy Scribbles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1398952
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Circus of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little ficlette for the 'Circus of the Dead' AU by [welovelogansanders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/welovelogansanders/pseuds/welovelogansanders), which is a horrifically fascinating Sanders Sides AU roughly based on the FNAF events of Sister Location. If you like the premise of this one, go check out their [Tumblr](https://welovelogansanders.tumblr.com/); they're constantly coming up with amazing and in-depth Sanders Sides AUs!

The call came when they least expected it. Just when they were finally starting to forget the danger they could be in, just when they were starting to have restful nights instead of spending wakeful ones comforting each other from nightmares, just when everything was starting to be alright… of course it had to end. 

Emile had been settled on the couch, Patton cuddled into his chest, neither really paying attention to whatever movie was playing in front of them. Light kisses were being pressed against Patton’s hair, the other humming lightly in contentment, and Emile was just about to tilt the other’s chin upwards to give him a proper kiss when his phone rang. 

The sound immediately draws a groan from Patton, who just buries his face in Emile’s chest and refuses to make any movement towards the cell phone buzzing on the table. Chuckling lightly, Emile moves slightly to try and grab the phone from his position, accepting the call and holding it to his ear, other hand beginning to run through Patton’s hair in a calming motion. 

“Picani residence; may I ask who is speaking?” His voice is light and cheery, the slightest edge of sleepiness softening the edges of his words, and he can’t help but smile as Patton nuzzles even more into his chest. And then, the person on the other side of the call speaks, and everything becomes heavier than thought possible. 

“Picani! Certainly been a while, now, hasn’t it?” 

Instantly, Emile freezes at the sound of the nasally voice, and Patton sleepily looks up at the other. “Everything alright, Emi?” he asks quietly. 

“How did you get this number,” Emile says, and he can feel himself beginning to shake as memories flood back, of blood and scars and _screaming and-_

“Holy shit, you didn’t hang up! Wren! Wren Wren Wren you owe me 5 dollars; I told you Picani had the balls to stay on the line!” Remus’s voice is the same as it had been all those years ago, excited and hyperactive, with the slightest tinge of insanity underlying his statement. A distant laugh filters in through the phone, and even though it sounds a little less psychotic and more endearing than usual, the sound sends Emile’s heart freezing and racing at the same time. A muffled response from the other, and then Remus is speaking back into the receiver. “He says he’s impressed!”

“... I-I’m-”

“We’re just calling to see how you and the subjects are doing!” Remus cuts him off cheerfully. “We’ve simmered down a bit… gotten some help.” The other’s voice gets a little more serious as he continues. “We… were a little messed up. Not much we can do to reverse what’s been done, but we at least want to know how you all are doing, now.”

‘A little messed up’ seems like a mild way of putting it, but of every confusing thing Remus had said, Emile’s dazed mind picks up on one specific detail mentioned. “W...What do you mean, ‘the subjects,’” he says quietly in a shaking, somewhat horrorstruck voice. And that’s what finally seems to tip Patton off to what’s happening, and he jerks up in surprise. 

“Emile, who’s on the phone?” Patton’s voice is quiet, almost fearful, small in a way Emile has hoped he would never hear again. He only tightens his grip on the other, rubbing Patton’s back in a repetative, calming motion and hoping the other can’t hear the way his heart is beating out of his chest. 

“I mean the subjects, of course. _Duh_. C’mon, Picani, surely you haven’t gotten _that_ stupid since you left.” Remus carries on with his usual tone, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil happening on the other end of the line. “All of our experiments had a strange bond with Patton! We assumed that, once we left, they’d just-“

Emile’s voice is shaking, but determined as he cuts the other off. “What do you mean, _‘we’_ left?”

“...Again, it means _exactly_ what I said, Pecan. They tried to escape, we put the facility on lockdown, and then we left? We’re certain they would’ve been able to escape, but…. wait, hun, did we leave the shock collars on or off for when they reach the building’s boundaries?” More muffled words, and then Remus speaks more directed towards Emile. “Never mind, they’re probably still in there. Huh. Imagine that!” 

It takes a second to let the words sink in for what they mean, and the moment they do, Emile freezes. The phone slips from his hand, falling to Patton’s lap, and he only vaguely processes the other picking it up. All he can think of is how long it had been since that day he thought they all had escaped. Eight years ago. The subjects had been put in lockdown in the lab and been left there to rot for _eight years_.

Patton raises the phone to his ear, and Emile can’t force out the words to stop him. 

“H...Hello?”

“Patton Foster!” Remus sounds somehow even more excited to hear the other, and in no way seems concerned about the gravity of the information he had just given Emile. 

“It’s Picani, now, actually,” Patton replies faintly. 

“Oh, you and Emile finally hooked up, huh? Oh goody; always knew that sexual tension was going to burst at some point! Thought you were gonna snap and pin the little guy down at one point or another.” 

Unlike Emile’s weak and stuttered words, Patton’s voice is firm and determined after his initial, stunned reaction. “Let’s get to the point, Remus. Why are you calling?” 

Remus’s grin could practically be heard in his words. “Welllll, I thought you had all of our little experiments, but it turns out, we might’ve accidentally forgotten them in the lab! We thought that they’d escape on their own easily enough, what with all their new additions-

“New. Additions?”

“Oh, just a few this and thats.” Remus sounds all too nonchalant for what he’s saying, and Emile’s heart only drops more at that. For as much as this call was apparently made out of 'care,' it seems that the other is just as uncaring, or simply oblivious, as he was all those years ago. “Wren had this fun little idea of ‘what if they were all robots?’ and I obviously thought that was cool, so we-”

“I’m sorry, you-”

“Awww c’mon Patty-Cake! You have to admit, we did a good! It’s actually some cool shit, as it should be, ‘cause I came up with a lotta the design choices!”

“What do you want me to say, Remus? That on a technical level, you’ve probably achieved something extraordinary? That you should receive a _pat on the back_ for creating a couple of what I assume you’d refer to as state-of-the art robots?” Patton’s voice is now clipped and cold, which is juxtaposed by the gentleness he displays as he pulls Emile’s shaking form to his chest. Despite the calm and collected exterior he's showing, Emile can feel the frantic and off-kilter heartbeat of the other drumming in his ears. “Does the fact that you did so with living humans, and not just _any_ humans, but _humans that have already been through so much of your torture_ , mean nothing to you? And what do you mean by ‘design choices?’”

“Oh, it’s really something! What _didn’t_ we do is the real question. They can withstand most blows- metal plating instead of skin will do that to ya- and it was oh so easy to make surgical adjustments! A few little commands, and you can mess with any system in the body without so much a single, pesky layer of skin in the way! Some of them don’t even need to eat! Well… either that, or they were taking forever to starve. You can control their every movement if you want, and-”

“With all due respect,” Patton almost hisses, sarcasm biting behind every word to show that he in no way meant _any_ respect, “those aren’t really the design choices I was referring to. Let’s skip this ‘sales pitch’ and get to the part where you tell me what happened, Remus. Where are my kiddos, _and what the fuck did you do to them?_ ”

* * *

_Emile didn’t want to be here. Emile didn’t want to be anywhere near here at all. He wanted to wake up in his bed that was more plushies and blankets than mattress at this point, wanted to walk into his office once again and greet patients both new and old, wanted to be able to curl up on his couch after a long day at work and watch whatever show he’d had a hankering for._

_“...Emile Picani,” the figure in front of him said coldly. Though the voice was hardly louder than a whisper, the tone might as well have made it sound like it was shouted at him. “Famed neurosurgeon. Graduated top of his class, with a minor in psychology to boot. I have to say, I’m impressed with your dedication to the field. It takes a truly amazing person to study both how the brain works on a physical level, as well as on a mental one.” Emile didn’t respond, just continued looking down at his scuffed sneakers as he tried to will back the tears. The other man sighed in an exaggerated manner as he took a step closer to where the therapist was sitting. “A shame, such a brilliant young life being taken so soon.”_

_At that, Emile’s head shot up, and he gave the other a confused and fearful look. “What… w-what do you mean? You’re… you went through all the trouble to kidnap me, and you’re just going to kill me?”_

_“Oh, no, you misunderstand. After all, it’d be hard to kill someone who is already dead.... well, dead to the public, at least.” And it took a second for it to click, but the moment it processed, Emile’s stomach dropped. He had been hoping, ever since the moment he had woken up in the back of that van, that his disappearance would be noticed. He had three loving parents, a handful of recurring clients, and though he had begun shifting more towards therapy once he realized his love for it, he still was called in every once in a while to help neurologists in-training. Somebody would’ve noticed he was gone, he was sure of it. But if this man had somehow faked his death..._

_A low chuckle, and the other man stepped closer. “Oh, don’t look so distraught, Picani.” Putting a finger to the other’s chin, he tilted his face upwards so that their eyes met. The moment Emile tried to pull away, the other grabbed his face a little more harshly. “Look at me when I talk to you.” A smile, looking far too wide to be natural, and then the man continued his little speech. “Now, as I was saying, if you do as we instruct, this can be the end of it. You stay here, working for us, and Emile Picani is dead to the outside world.”_

_“...And what if I don’t?” Emile whispered. “You’ll make sure I’m dead in this place as well?”_

_The other man chuckled, then dropped Emile’s chin. “Oh, no, of course not. You’re far too valuable for us to just throw away… We’ll keep you around a little while longer.” Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a blurry photo and held it up so Emile could see._

_His dad, pa, and ren, casually tending to their front lawn like they did every Saturday morning. The roses were still in full bloom, and his ren was wearing the shirt Emile had gotten them for their birthday a few weeks prior. This picture was recent, and Emile’s stomach dropped down so far he didn’t think he could feel it anymore. “They… they have nothing to do with this; there’s n-no reason for you to h-h-hurt them.” He tried to speak calmly, but his voice was shaking, and as he took a moment to breathe, he noticed the rest of his body was as well._

_“Follow my instructions, and I won’t need to,” the other man said simply._

_And slowly, very slowly, Emile nodded, feeling a fresh wave of tears silently spilling down his face. “What do you need me to do?” he almost whispered._

_The other’s grin widened, turning almost feral, and he looped around behind Emile to start fiddling with his cuffed wrists. “Oh, just a few this and thats. Nothing too difficult, really.” Wincing as the cuffs unlatched, letting his hands fall to his sides, Emile tried to rub the life back into his limbs as he stood up on shaky legs. “You should be able to handle it.” Turning to steady Emile as he stumbled to the side, the movement feeling more like a display of control than genuine help, the man’s grin only widened. “So glad to have you aboard the team, Picani,” he said with the smallest twinge of excitement in his voice. “I am Dr. Wren Evans, and soon enough, you’ll be introduced to my associate, Dr. Remus Gamer. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”_

* * *

“Shh… Pat, it’s going to be okay. Deep breaths, alright? In for five seconds-”  
  
“I don’t… can’t I c-can’t-.” Patton’s voice is choked and frantic, and he gasps for breath between every word. His hand grips Emile’s in a vice-like hold over the central console, and he quickly undoes the other’s seatbelt to allow him as much room to breathe as possible. “I’m… I can’t even, not even for _them_ , can’t be brave enough to fucking-” 

“You’re plenty brave, Patton.” And Emile isn’t lying when he says that. Patton knew what they were getting into just as much as he did, knew that they were going to be facing and potentially reliving the trauma they had spent so many years working past, and yet… 

Yet, the moment Remus told them what had happened, Patton made plans for them to drive to the laboratory as quickly as physically possible. There was a determination in his steady words as he brought Emile down from his panic attack, a determination that made Emile feel like there was hope even though he knew that, realistically, there wasn’t much. Patton was brave, far braver than himself, and it was a shame that he didn’t give himself enough credit on that front. 

“Y-You aren’t… you’re s-still… s-so brave, love, I-”

“I don’t think it’s fully sunken in for me, yet,” Emile admits. There’s an underlying feeling of wrong worming under his skin, and every time he can see the silhouette of the all-too-familiar building in the background when he turns, his heartbeat stutters. But he still hasn’t broken, not yet. He can’t, not when Patton is in pain. Patton always comes first for him, and he can hold off on his own fear for a moment longer to ensure that the other is alright. “But that doesn’t make me any less or more brave. You chose to come back. Even though this place rightfully terrifies you, even though you still have nightmares of this place, even though-”

“C..’Course, I… I needed to come back. For ‘m kiddos.” Patton’s breath is still gasping and uneven, but it’s a little calmer, and Emile lightly rubs circles on the back of his hand with his thumb. 

“And that’s _so_ goddamn brave. It’s okay to be scared; it’s going forwards despite that fear that is truly noble. In the wise words of Pooh, 'you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.'"

And even though it's obvious that he's still panicking, Patton has to crack the smallest of smiles at the other's impression, a broken giggle spilling from his lips before his breath catches and he's speaking again. “I can’t… c’nt, though... Can’t go back in there, what if it’s a trap, what… w-what if you go and they hurt you again, and a-and I can’t do anything to stop it and I-”

“I won’t let that happen,” Emile replies calmly, and Patton nods slowly a few moments later. And it’s while they’re sitting there in silence, Patton roughly scrubbing at his tears with his free hand while Emile lightly kisses the knuckles of the other, that he thinks of a solution. A way to finish what they came here to do, to ensure the safety of at least one member of their party, to not have to force Patton back into this nightmarish hellscape…

“...What if I went in by myself?”

Instantly, Patton jerks back up, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “Em, n-no, you can’t-”

Softly shushing the other, Emile shoots him a small smile. “I could be on the phone with you the entire time. It’d be wise to have someone up here watching the entrance anyways, right? And to help with all the above-ground generators if need be?” 

“What if s-something… something could happen. ‘Nd you c-could get hurt a-and I’m not there to-”

“I’ll be fine, love. I promise.” 

There’s a moment where they fall silent once again, Emile’s soft and reassuring gaze locked with Patton’s teary and fearful one. And then, slowly and shakily, Patton nods, covering his mouth to muffle another sob.

“Okay… o-okay. I’ll… you better tell me i-if something happens, though, Picani. No cuddles for a week if I find out you were in d-danger and you didn’t tell me.”

Emile smiles softly at that, free hand going to his heart in a 'woe is me' pose. “What a cruel punishment. Depriving me, your loving husband, of your precious cuddles? Absolutely criminal.” The watery giggle that follows makes everything seem alright for a moment, makes it seem _normal_ , like it’s just another day of domestic softness that Emile falls in love with every moment he’s lucky enough to experience it. If it weren’t for the way his heart distantly twists in a way that feels wrong for reasons he doesn’t even know and the sheen of tears making Patton’s eyes sparkle, it could just be another soft back-and-forth they regularly engage in. 

“Stay safe, alright? You d-don’t know what is down there.” The fear still hasn’t sunk in quite yet, because how could it when faced with Patton’s soft smile? His own smile grows a little softer as Patton pulls him close to lay a feather light kiss against his lips, and arms wrap around him for an awkward hug across the center console of the car. 

He pulls away after what feels like far too soon, even though he knows it’s been more than a few minutes, and he manages to shoot a small smile back at Patton as he gets ready to leave. 

“I’ll be fine, love.” 

And he is fine. He’s fine as he locates the external generator, the one he knows is connected to the elevator hidden around the back of what seems to be a deserted and overgrown building. He’s fine as he answers Patton’s call, setting the phone on speaker mode so he can idly chit-chat with the other and keep him calm while he’s out of sight. He’s calm as he loops back around the building to wave at the other, to tell him he loves him over the phone before he heads back to the tarnished doors of the elevator. 

And then the doors close in front of him, and suddenly, nothing is fine. His breath suddenly catching in his throat as every twisted memory comes flooding back into the forefront of his mind, Emile mutes his phone, and then drops to his knees. He can feel the vague, jerky motion of the elevator beginning to descend, can hear the small sound of Patton trying to talk to him from the receiver, but all he can focus on is the way his lungs can’t take in enough air, the familiar walls of his nightmares surrounding him, the distance between he and Patton that he hasn’t experienced in years. He can feel phantom touches on his skin, hear echoes of screams ripping into the air around him, and he dry-heaves as he feels a steady stream of tears fall down his cheeks. 

One minute and fourteen seconds. The elevator always took one minute and fourteen seconds to reach the lower levels of the facility. Emile allows himself one minute and fourteen seconds to fall apart and put himself back together again before doing what he came here to do. 

* * *

_“Oh boo, it’s no fun when it gets like this!” Poking at the shivering man strapped to the table in front of him, Remus twirled a scalpel between his fingers as he looked up at Emile. “I like it when it screams!” he continued saying, scalpel twisting faster and faster as his grin grew wider. “But once it starts thrashing around too much, and you gotta muzzle it up… the screams don’t sound as nice. God, sometimes I wish they were just robots! A little beep beep boop , and suddenly, they can’t move! But they can still scream! All the fun, none of the boring stuff. Wouldn’t that be cool, Picani? To be able to control their every move?”_

_Emile thought he tried to stumble for an answer, but Remus was already moving on before he could say anything. “Say, you think if I poked it enough,” he punctuated that statement with a casual slice on the man’s pectoral, causing both Emile and the man to wince, “he’d scream loud enough to break that stupid vase that Wren keeps in our room? Ohh, or maybe it’d be enough to burst our eardrums! All the blood would gush out, and we wouldn’t be able to hear even our own screams, and-”_

_“Maybe you should go find out!” Emile cut in, trying, and most likely failing, to sound cheery and very interested in what Remus was saying. Even after a year to grow used to the things the other would say, the graphic imagery the other used still caught him off guard sometimes. “Try seeing if screaming at the vase makes a difference, a-and then maybe we can try the eardrum thing?”_

_Remus’s eyes narrowed at that, and Emile laughed nervously, taking a small step backwards. “That… is a goddamn genius idea, Picani!” The man in question let out a shaky breath of relief. “You finish up the experiment? I gotta go shout at that ugly vase!” Throwing the scalpel in Picani’s direction Remus rushed towards the door, leaving the other scientist to dodge the surgical tool as the door slammed shut behind him. Taking a moment to close his eyes, focusing on a few deep and steady breaths, Emile blinked and turned his attention back to the man strapped to the table in front of him. A nervous, yet thankful, gaze met his own, and the scientist tried for a small, reassuring smile._

_“Alright, Vee,” Emile whispered softly, fingers gently grazing over the back of the other man’s hand before beginning to tap out a familiar pattern. “Let’s take a moment just to breathe, alright? You remember the pattern. In…. and out. Good job!” He reluctantly forced himself to pick up a clean scalpel, fingers still tapping out the breathing exercise as Virgil tried to follow it. “This’ll all be over quicker than a season of ATLA on a lazy summer evening… just hold still, and I’ll get you back to your room as quickly as possible, alright?”_

* * *

By the time the elevator stops with a screech of unused metal, Emile has calmed his breathing enough that he can actually take note of his surroundings. Scrubbing the seemingly endless onslaught of tears running down his face as the elevator doors slowly slide open, he unmutes his phone, takes a deep breath, and begins to speak.

“Sorry, Pat. Think I hit a rough patch of service, but it should be fine, now.” Looking around the elevator, he shivers at the familiar atmosphere beginning to weigh down on him once again before forcing himself to take a step forward. He stopped after that one step, a sudden shot of pure terror freezing him in his tracks, but at least he’s making some sort of progress.

“...’s okay,” Patton replies, voice still a little shaky, but seeming to calm down after hearing the other’s voice. “How’s… uh, what’s it looking like? Down there?”

At that, Emile has to laugh, a small and twisted sound bubbling up in his throat as he wipes at his tears yet again. “Just as homey as always.”

“...You doing alright, love?”

He doesn’t respond right away. Doesn’t think he can, not without letting another sob force its way past his lips and letting Patton know that he is as far away from ‘alright’ as he thinks he can be right now. He knows he’s doing the right thing, coming down here alone and saving Patton the trauma of having to relieve his nightmares the way that he is doing right now. But there’s a small, scared and selfish part of him that wants to scream, to tell Patton that he can’t do this alone, that he wants the other to relieve this with him if it means he doesn’t have to stand by himself at the entrance of the place that has caused so much pain. 

“Yeah,” he finally says, and he takes a few deep, calming breaths. He has to be. He has to be alright, not just for himself, and not just for Patton, but for each of the people that he still deeply cares for that might still be stuck in this horrible place. “Yeah, I’m fine. I…” He makes himself take another step forward, and then another, and he’s almost out of the elevator when his foot hits something and the sudden sound of plastic sliding across the floor makes him flinch.

All he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears for a few seconds, and he’s tensed up so tightly he doesn’t think he could move if he tried, eyes trained on the ground in front of him as his eyesight slowly adjusts to the dimness. 

“Em? Emile? Are… a-are you alright? Talk t-to me, what happened?” Patton’s voice is frantic in his ears as his eyesight finally adjusts, and Emile’s gaze freezes on the object lying on the ground a few feet in front of him. A frighteningly _familiar_ object, and he’s walking forward to pick the remote up before he even knows what he’s doing. His thumb traces the chipped plastic casing, and his eyes catch on the worn red button, a faded lightning bolt embellishing the rubber. ‘Subject 004,’ the scribbled sharpie along the edge reads, and Emile’s chest tightens. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says as soon as he can find the ability to breathe once more, voice quiet and shaking. “Just.. strange to be down here again. Gosh, I, uh… I suppose every good show has gotta have their ‘Weirdmageddon’ episode some time or another, right? Everything all twisted and nightmarish a-and… it’s only fair that I’m finally having mine.” Still holding the remote in his hand, being sure to not accidentally hit any stray buttons, he takes the first tentative step into the facility. The roof is warped, and the familiar hallway to his right, the one he needs to take, is completely filled with rubble. 

Sighing, Emile slips the remote into his bag, then looks around until his eyes fall on the gaping hole of a rather large air vent set in the wall. Deep breaths. He just needs to take deep breaths, forget about the device figuratively burning a hole in his pockets, and continue forward. All he needs to do is find an unobstructed way around the lab, and he’d be set. 

“Patton… how well do you know the vent system of this place?”

* * *

_It was years after being brought to this place that Emile witnessed his first, real shock. He had known that the possibility was there, had seen the ugly and all-too-tight collars adorning each of the experiments contained within the walls. But nobody had ever stepped out of line far enough for their use to become necessary._

_Until that day. Emile had been showing their newest addition, Dr. Patton Foster, how things worked around the lab, when he had suddenly heard a choked and cut off scream. Instantly running over to look at the control panel, he saw Logan curled up on the floor shaking far too much to be any semblance of alright, and heard Wren’s voice echoing through the intercom system._

_“Subject 004, if you do not follow said instructions, you will be given another controlled shock.” Wren’s voice sounded almost bored, but the undercurrent of anger in his voice was evident._

_The jerky movements that Logan made were an obvious attempt to get back to his feet, but he was shaking far too much to make that objective a reality. Remus watched from beside the shaking man, looking far too interested and smiling far too widely to do anything but send shivers up Emile’s spine. And then another buzz sounded and Logan cried out, spasming form falling back to the floor._

_“Subject 004, I said-”_

_Emile was pressing the button to the intercom before he even knew what he was doing, other hand going to nervously twist at his tie as he began to speak. His faux cheery voice echoing down the halls in place of Wren’s harsh tone made Remus look up in confusion, and on the monitor, Emile could see the equally thankful and confused look in Logan’s eyes. “Wren, if you continue to shock the subject, he will be more than unable to participate in your next scheduled experiment.” Pretending to be indifferent about the experiments themselves was key, here. If he got emotional, or showed he cared in any way for the subjects themselves, it would get him nowhere. But, playing the ‘for the good of the experiment’ card occasionally worked, and Emile’d be damned if he didn’t try to help in any small way he could. “If you would stop this childish shocking and allow me to relieve Remus of his duties at the moment, I could properly take care of the subject from this temporary setback while he and yourself prepare for the next experiment.” As soon as he was done, he let his finger lift from the intercom, letting out a shaking breath once he knew that the others couldn’t hear him._

_There was a short pause, and on the screen, Emile could see Remus lightly kick at the other’s fallen figure. A short sigh, more of a huff than anything else, echoed through the facility halls, and Emile could hear a sheath of papers being set down, as well as the click of a familiar remote being dropped to the desk. Emile allowed himself a small smile at that, beginning to back away from the control panel and hopefully head out to make sure Logan was alright._

_“Very well. Picani, you take Subject 004. I expect it to be in the scheduled observation room for the experiment by the time Remus and I are done.” There was an unspoken ‘or else’ tacked onto the end of Wren’s clipped sentences, and Emile knew this wouldn’t be the sort of day he could push back the date of a procedure under the guise that a subject ‘needed more time to recuperate.’ Wincing slightly at that, he muttered a soft ‘sorry, Lo,’ before spinning around to grab a medical kit and go help the injured subject._

_Only to be faced with an almost confused-looking Patton Foster, wearing an expression that he wasn’t exactly sure he knew the meaning of._

_“My apologies,” Picani said quickly, internally hoping the other hadn’t heard or seen any of his weakness when it came to talking with Wren, even though it would’ve been impossible to miss it. Foster didn’t respond, only looked at him with the same strange look, and Emile quickly ducked around the other’s taller form to rush out into the hallway._

_He could worry about Foster later. Right now, he needed to help Logan._

* * *

The silence is absolutely deafening. It had been only a minute since Patton had gone offline, promising to call Emile back the moment he's found the external generator and gotten the power back on again, but he’s already feeling like it’s been far too long. Nervously ensuring the door into the control room is both closed and locked, Emile sits down with his back to it, trying to focus on his breathing for a second. 

Patton's old office. At least he’s staying in a familiar, almost comforting, place while he waits for the other to call him back. He had spent so much time here, and even though it was now dusty and decayed, it still held that vague sense of warmth it had always radiated all those years ago. The monitors adorning the wall are still covered in a dozens of puppy and kitten stickers, the floor littered with ones whose stickiness had worn off. A few photos sit in dusty frames atop the desk and, ignoring the photos that were ripped to shreds on the ground and the picture frames bent and shattered nearby, Emile swears the faintest scent of cookies still lingers in the air. If there was any place to be in while the power was out, he supposes that this was the best one. 

He’s just about to see if Patton’s sketchbook is still on the shelf, the pages of messy, almost childish scrawls being the only thing he had been legitimately sorry to leave behind, when the speakers on the walls around him crackle to life. 

“I recognize you.” The voice echoes around the small room, and Emile instantly freezes, phone gripped tightly to his chest. The voice sounds familiar, sounds trustworthy and safe, but something also feels wrong and his stomach twists in fear. Gripping his phone to his chest until his knuckles are white, Emile silently pleads in his mind for Patton to call him back soon. “You aren’t new… but you are _different_. I remember this scenario, someone telling me that you would come back.” There’s a pause, and then an almost mechanical laugh. “However, it’s a strange thing to want to do, to come _here_. I’m curious what events would lead a person to want to spend their time in a place like this _willingly_. I’m curious what events would lead to _you_ specifically coming back, Dr. Picani. Maybe curiosity. Maybe ignorance.” The voice trails off once again, and when it begins to speak again, there’s a palpable sharpness behind their words. “Maybe in an attempt to rid yourself of some sort of guilt. A guilt over _leaving us behind_ , perhaps?”

“... I’m… I-I’m sorry,” is Emile’s whispered response, even though he knows that a simple apology isn’t even close to fixing the mistakes he’s made. “I wasn’t aware that you all hadn’t escaped with… w-with us. If… if I had known, I would’ve... It doesn't matter, I.... my _excuses_ don't matter. We can help you now; we can make this _right_. Can help you all escape, for _real_ this time, can bring you back to a life you deserve. Pat and I have a place... it's small, but you'd all be free to stay as long as you'd like while we try and fix this. We can-“

" _Nothing you promise could possible fix this,_ " Dominic suddenly shouts, cutting him off before he can finish. Because Emile is certain this is Dominic; there’s no mistaking his smooth and level voice, however empty and almost automated it sounds, now.

They sit in silence after those words, Emile not moving from his position sitting against the door, and no sound on the other's end indicating he was moving either. And then, almost as if the outburst hadn't happened in the first place, the voice crackles back through the speakers just as calm and collected as before. “There is a space under the desk. One crafted by someone or another, perhaps Virgil, or maybe Remy. This was Patton’s observation room, you know. I think they were comforted by the thought of being closer to him even when he wasn’t here. There should be a flashlight or two down there. You will need them. The others like to stay in the darker rooms, and the power has cut out in those areas seemingly for good.” The other pauses, as if waiting for Emile to move and retrieve the flashlights, but he can’t seem to make himself leave where he's huddled down with his back to the door. “You can move, Picani,” he finally speaks up, and there’s the slightest twinge of teasing in his voice that makes Emile’s heart hurt at the familiarity of it. “There are many dangers outside these walls, but I promise, you are safe within this room.”

“Why are you helping me?” Emile finally whispers. “It’s obvious you hate me just as much as before, and it's obvious that you aren't quite accepting my help for yourself. And… and I get that. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done; I… I should’ve checked, I should’ve turned back and made sure everyone had escaped rather than selfishly focus on myself and Patton and getting as far away from here as possible. There’s—“

“Maybe it’s because I know that you wouldn’t have intentionally left us,” Dominic cuts him off once again. “Or rather… Patton wouldn’t. God knows Remy has waxed poetic about how our facility’s favorite father figure would never just ‘abandon’ his kiddos like that. He… he was certain you both had died. Because surely, _Patton_ would come back and save us in due time.” The other’s voice becomes more clipped and cold, and the last sentence is practically sneered. 

The phone in Emile’s hands suddenly rings, cutting through the momentary silence and making the one holding it jump. Staring at the caller ID, feeling his body relax slightly at the sight of Patton’s name paired with one of his favorite pictures of the other, his eyes flicker back up to look at the speakers. A light hum echoes through the room and, seeming to take control of his tone once again, Dominic continues softly. “Perhaps you shouldn’t look a gift horse so closely in the mouth, Picani. After all, just because you abandoned us doesn’t mean I would do the same to you. Now, go ahead and answer Patton’s call. I can give you more instructions later.”

* * *

_“Why are you helping me?” Dominic’s voice was soft, even though his body language was as closed off and indifferent as ever. Emile stayed quiet for a second, methodologically wrapping bandages around the bleeding scratches among the scales trailing up his arm._

_“...Wren wouldn’t like it if his favorite experiment was too banged up to mess with,” Picani finally replied, tying off the end of the bandages and quickly making sure that the wrap wasn’t too tight. Wanting to at least give Dominic access to them, even if he knew the other was too wary to actually take the pills, he slipped a few painkillers into his scaled hand before pulling back a little._

_“Okay,” the other replied, still in that soft and somewhat confused voice. “...Might want to be careful, though. A few more moments like this, and I might start to think that you care about us.” It was said in a somewhat joking tone, but the humor fell flat as Emile pulled away. “...Dr. Picani?”_

_“ I do care,” Emile wanted to whisper, just so that someone else here would finally know that he wasn’t like the other scientists he worked with. Not that Dominic would hate him any less; he’d probably tell him that he was a coward for not helping them even though he knew this was wrong, that he was pathetic for letting everyone around him be tortured this way, that if he really cared he’d actually do something..._

_He wanted to tell Dominic that he tried not to care, just because it hurt too much sometimes, and he was a coward who couldn’t deal with that despite the pain he caused everyone around him. He wanted to tell Dominic of the monthly updates he got on his parents, and how he cared too much for them and their new hypoallergenic cat they had gotten to cope with his disappearance, cared too much to do the brave thing and help the people being tortured in front of him at the cost of their lives. He wanted to tell Dominic that he hated every second he stayed here, that he would remove himself from the equation if he was brave enough to do so, if only so there was one less scientist for the subjects to worry about._

_But he didn’t say any of that. He just glanced over the bandages once again to ensure that he’d done his job well enough, and left._

_The moment Dominic’s door had closed behind him, Emile sighed rather loudly, hand raising to brush at his teary eyes. And, turning to head back to his room, he jumped in surprise as he found himself face to face with Dr. Patton Foster._

_Instantly Emile found his face falling into its usual, indifferent expression, even as a shot of anxiety raced through his system. How much had the other heard? He didn’t know much about the new scientist, didn’t know how willing he was to be a watchdog for Wren, didn’t know if he was imprisoned here like he was or if he had come here by his own free will, and the unknowingness of it all terrified him. “Heya, Dr. Foster,” he said calmly, hands turning to fists in an effort to stop their shaking. “I didn’t expect to see you. Here. Especially at such late hours. I had assumed all the scientists had gone to bed.”_

_“What were you doing in there?” was Foster’s quiet response, and Emile froze._

_“Routine subject checkup.”_

_“That didn’t look much like ‘routine.’”_

_There was a moment of silence, and Emile’s eyes flickered away from the other’s gaze. And then-_

_“You don’t want to be here,” Foster said, at the same time Emile’s voice pleaded a soft, “Please don’t tell Wren or Remus.”_

_Emile’s gaze shot back to Dr. Foster’s face. “What?”_

_“...You don’t want to be here,” Dr. Foster repeated quietly, sounding almost stunned._

_And even though Emile shouldn’t, he could feel a wave of hope erupting in his chest. “You… you too?” he said in barely more than a whisper, far too much hope in his voice._

_Foster just nodded frantically, and Emile thought he could see the glint of unshed tears in the corners of his eyes. “So… s-so you don’t want to… you didn’t choose to come here. They made you do this, too. You don’t want to hurt the kiddos, you don’t… y-you don’t-”_

_“Never. Never , I… I never would choose this, never wanted to hurt them, would leave the first second I could if I were able to, I-”_

_And then Emile found himself with an armful of Patton, and he could feel tears of his own brimming in his eyes._

_“How do you do it? How d-do you… I need to. N-Need to or else they’ll… t-they’ll… but I don’t-”_

_Softly shushing the other, Emile tentatively began stroking the other’s hair in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “I’ll teach you, I promise,” he whispered softly. “You just… you just have to pretend. That’s the most important thing here. Pretend for Wren, a-and you can… you can sometimes help the others when they aren’t looking. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”_

_They hug for a few more minutes in that empty hallway, the only sounds being of Patton’s muffled sobs and Emile’s quiet reassurances, before Patton finally sniffed and pulled away slightly. Emile internally kicked himself for nearly whining as his first hug in far too long ended but, by the look on the other’s face, it looked like he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t ready to be alone quite yet._

_“I, uh… Remus let me get a tv in my room after my ‘imprisonment-versary.’” Shooting Patton a careful smile, he tentatively held out a hand. “I have all the Disney classics, and a few of the new ones as well, a couple old Cartoon Network shows on DVD, first season of Avatar… If you aren’t doing anything.”_

_Patton seemed to hesitate for a second at that, wiping at his tears while looking over Emile with an expression the other didn’t quite understand. And just when Emile was about to pull his hand back and apologize, and then proceeding to make a speedy getaway, Patton grinned._

_Emile didn’t think he’d ever truly seen something beautiful until that exact moment._

_Slowly taking Emile’s hand, Patton laced their fingers together, and then tugged Emile after him as he headed towards the scientists' rooms. “You got Steven Universe?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“I’m in.”_

* * *

  
  


“I… I don’t think our original plan is going to work,” Emile says shakily the moment Patton’s voice comes back through the receiver.  
  
“W...Why not? Em, what happened?”

“I… I don’t know.” And Emile doesn’t know, he really doesn’t. All he knows is that Dominic talked to him, and instead of feeling relieved at the other being alive like he should’ve felt, he just feels… wrong. Something is wrong, and he doesn’t know what, and he doesn’t know how to explain it. “It’s just… something… it just feels off. Pat, they’ve been down here for a while, and that could really change someone. I… don’t think that trying to get them all together to ‘talk it out’ is the best way forward. Not… not right now.”

Patton falls silent at that, and Emile can practically hear the gears turning in the other’s head. He was never one to disregard any worry Emile might have, however irrational it might be. When he had heard a noise in their house after watching a horror movie, Patton hadn’t told him it was just his imagination and insisted they go back to bed. He had walked around the house with a flashlight in hand, Emile trailing along behind him as they ensured that the doors were locked and that nobody else was inside their house. When Emile had woken screaming from a nightmare and sobbed insistances that Remus had found them and was going to take them back, Patton hadn’t just told him that it was only a nightmare. He sat with the other until the sun was peeking through their window, helping the other separate the truth from reality and talking through the precautionary measures they had gone through to ensure that could never happen. It was just another thing that made Patton far too good for him, and it was something he was grateful for every day. 

And so, in true Patton fashion, he doesn’t immediately wave off Emile’s concerns as paranoia, even though that must be what it sounds like. Instead, he finds a solution, a middleground, a way to continue that he hopes won’t spark up Emile’s fears. “...What about Remy?” Patton asks softly. 

“What about that hoe?” is Emile’s instinctive response, and he has to crack a smile at the familiar sound of Patton berating him for calling the other names. “C’mon, Pat, he called me a slut at least 50% of the time… let me have this.” 

His smile grows a little more real at the other’s quiet laugh. “... But you know what I mean, Em. He was always the most unbothered out of all the subjects; Wren and Remus never seemed to get to him. You of all people know he acted more like he was a celebrity staying in a hotel than an experiment locked in a lab. You’re right… approaching this as a group effort might not be the best plan. But… one-on-one might work, right? And if there was ever a one to start with… and if anyone down here is still themselves after all this… it’s him.” 

Emile falls silent at that, not really sure of what to say. After all… what Patton says is true. But there’s still a small part of him that whispers that this is all still wrong, that Remy might be as wrong as Dominic is right now, that he could very well be heading into a dangerous situation that he might not make it out of. But he doesn’t voice those thoughts, not when Patton sounds so hopeful at finding even one member of their little family. “You’re right,” he says, even though he feels wrong, like he’s lying. He wants to have hope, he really does, but… He shuts down his own thoughts and repeats what Patton had said. “If anyone… it would be him.”

He can almost hear Patton relax at his words, and the coil of wrongness in his stomach only tightens. 

It’s nearly thirty more minutes of aimless wandering before they find what seems to be a used room. The door is dingy and dented, but the handle is free from the dust that has settled most places, and as Emile pushes it open, it does so without protest. “It’s dark,” Emile narrates quietly as he steps tentatively into the room, nose wrinkling as a strong smell suddenly hits him. “And it smells like someone stole Wren's prized coffee maker. Do you think…?”

“Sounds like his sort of place.” And Emile can hear the way the other’s voice softens slightly, even if it’s hidden mostly by the crackling of the bad phone line. He knows that Patton misses the subjects with all of his heart; had spent many a night curled up on the couch with him and held him as he cried over each and every one of them, wondering why they hadn't met up yet. And to have one of the other’s ‘kiddos’ so close… 

“From what Dominic said, it sounds like he doesn’t come out much…” Emile mutters under his breath as he digs around in his bag, humming lightly in triumph as he finds one of the flashlights stored there. “That, paired with his already sensitive vision…”

“Wh… Emi, did you say Dominic?”

“N…No, no, forget I said anything. I.. I think I’ll keep my light off for now. Or, at least, only use it in small bursts. A steady stream of light probably wouldn’t be the best for him right now. 

“You’d never hear the end of it if you accidentally blinded him, love. Be prepared to accept the consequences.” Patton’s voice is bittersweet at that statement, and Emile can’t help but chuckle sadly. 

“I know, Patton.”

And then, Emile is looking around the dark room warily, flicking the flashlight on for just a second before turning it off once again. The brief flash doesn’t show him much, especially as the door shuts behind him and plunges the room back into pure darkness. 

Another flash of his light, and he can make out a general outline of the room. Large and square, seemingly empty. “... I don’t know if he’s here…” Emile says quietly into the receiver, turning slightly to flash his light more to the left of him. 

“...he has to be there. He... he just _has_ to.” Patton’s voice sounds a little frantic at that, and Emile softly shushes him in an attempt to calm him. “Remus... he said there was enough food in here to last the century. A-And, he said they were in decent shape when he left, and-“

“I’ll keep looking, I promise.” Emile flashes the light to the left of him, each flash getting longer and longer as he realizes there might not be anyone in the room to potentially blind. “If he’s not here, I’m sure he’s-“

There. To the right of him. A figure, standing by the wall, somewhat curled in on themselves. The light flashes off, and Emile quickly fumbles to turn it back on. 

“Emile, are you-“

“Someone’s here.”

Patton falls silent, and Emile finally fumbles with the flashlight's switch to flicker the light back on. The figure is closer now, and while he laments the thinner-than-unusual frame he sees as he shuts the light off again, he can’t help but feel a jolt of happiness at the glint off the other’s familiar, tinted glasses. 

It’s apparent that Patton hears his husband’s sharp intake of breath because, before Emile can do anything to muffle the sound, he’s almost sobbing into the receiver. “Remy?” His voice is cracked and full of more emotion than he thinks he can fully pick apart, but the hope at any of their little family being alive is clear in his words. 

A shadow suddenly looms from the darkness, and Emile stumbles backwards, clicking the flashlight back on in fright. The figure in front of him hisses, a broken sound of gears sticking and wires snapping, but continues forward desperately with his arm thrown over his sensitive eyes. Instantly the phone is being snatched from his hands before Emile can stop him and, training the beam of light on the figure, Emile tries to swallow back the wave of vomit the sight in front of him illicits. The noise that follows is incredibly broken, more of a screech than anything else, but it’s not hard to decipher what is being said.  
  
“ _P ** ~~a~~**_ t ~~t~~ **o** _n_?”

* * *

_“Patton!”_

_The name was called out as if a greeting to an old friend one hadn’t seen in years, and Emile couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at his lips at the sound. He could hear the door shut behind Patton as he entered the room, and the fidgeting of the man in front of him finally stopped. “It’s been so long!”_   
  
_“It’s been two days,” Wren commented unhelpfully from where he was fiddling with the equipment set aside for today's procedures._

_“Far too long since I’ve seen Patton, and far too soon since I’ve seen you,” the subject shot back vehemently before his gaze most likely turned back to Patton. “How’s it going, Patty-cake?”_

_Patton chuckled a bit sadly, and Emile finally looked up from his clipboard to see the scientist lightly brush back the bangs from the other’s forehead. “Doing fine, Re...” Wren gave him a sharp, curious look, and Patton quickly remedied his mistake. “Subject 006.”_

_“Oh, hun, no need to be so formal,” the man strapped to the operation table practically purrs. “A cutie like you can use any name you want for me. Speaking of name… name brand…. name brand coffee… great segway, I know, thanks babes, what’s the word on me finally getting my starbies? Only been asking for, like, a year, now. It’s a simple order, really. A non-fat, half-can double dry latte, easy foam-”_

_“Today's procedure will involve strengthening the subject’s cerebellum,” Wren cut in, completely ignoring the quips being thrown at him by the other. “Picani, in relation to the subject’s control of his dreamscape and others around him, what do you think our purpose is here?”_

_“I… to increase the perception of sensation within a dream? But Wren, this is a really dangerous-”_

_“I’d prefer not to fucking die, Wrenny boy. Your side hoe looks like he’s about to fuck the scalpel before fucking me up, and I honestly don’t feel as comfortable seeing that than you’d-”_

_“Shut your goddamn mouth, you little shit!” Wren’s voice rose to an almost terrifying yell, before dropping down into a whisper that was somehow just as fear-inspiring. It looked like Remy’s constant stream of chatter was the last straw on an already stressful day, and even through the fear he felt for the other, Emile couldn't help but find a jolt of satisfaction at seeing him piss Wren off. “I can usually tolerate your idiotic comments, but if you know what's good for you, you’ll shut your fucking mouth immediately.”_

_Emile would laugh at the sight of the sunglasses-adorned man sticking his tongue out once Wren had turned his back, if he wasn’t so sure he was about to see him slaughtered if he spoke another word._

_Any semblance of humor was gone about two minutes later, Wren having calmed down significantly, and Emile standing at the head of the table while Patton prepared the subject for the procedure. Remy winced at the antiseptic wipe dabbing at the operation area, and Emile could see the way he bit his lip in uncharacteristic nervousness. Patton apparently noticed as well, and the moment Remus had turned away to do something or another, was lightly running his fingers through the other’s messy hair in a calming motion. “Everything’s going to be alright, Remy,” he whispered, trying for a small smile._

_“Whatever ya say, hun. I’m trusting ya to do your best work, alright, hot stuff?” Remy’s voice still held the same flirty, over-the-top tone it had previously, but it was hard to miss how he was gripping the edges of the table beneath him far too tightly, or the way he winced at the bright lights as his tinted glasses were removed and set aside, the slightest tremor to his voice as Remus fiddled with a scalpel with far too much glee._

_“...’course,” was Patton’s soft reply._

_“Thanks, hun.” The subject’s voice was smaller, now. Tired, soft and almost resigned in the way that he only sounded right before a particularly bad procedure. But by tomorrow, Emile knew he’d be back to his usual, obnoxious, I-am-superior-to-you attitude that he always carried, even through the aftermath of pain that was sure to follow._

_Remy was good at pretending, far better than Emile, and maybe even Dominic or anyone else in the facility. Maybe it was just because he hadn’t been around long enough to be broken like the others. Or maybe it was because he really didn’t understand the danger he was constantly in, though the pure fear that sparked through his eyes as Remus made the first incision seemed to disprove that._

_Emile didn’t know what trauma would be able to legitimately break Remy, but he knew he’d never want to witness it._

* * *

  
  


“I see you there, hi-i-iding in the d-dark!”

Remy immediately freezes at the glitchy, broken voice echoing down the hallway they are standing in. And even though he’s mostly avoided physical contact up until this point, he doesn’t hesitate to grab Emile’s free hand and tug him into the nearest empty room. Even through the tinted shared the other wears, presumably still to protect their sensitive vision, Emile can see the way his eyes flicker around the room frantically before giving the other a light shove and motioning for Emile to hide himself. At the questioning, and probably fearful, glance Emile shoots him, Remy gives ‘stay put’ motion, jerking his thumb down the hall with a sad smile, then making the sign for ‘crazy,’ spinning his finger in a circle next to his head. 

It’s only once the other has ventured back into the hallway that Patton speaks up again. “What’s happening?” His voice is quiet in a way that makes Emile wish he hadn’t offered to come here alone, if only so he could hold the other right now. The past half hour of tentative questioning, Emile relaying what Remy seemed to be trying to say back to Patton, had left the other growing more and more subdued until he wasn’t speaking much at all. Even Remy seemed to realize something was up and, as they walked, continued throwing concerned glances towards the phone in the other’s hand. 

Even though Emile would never admit it, he genuinely misses the other’s quips and sarcastic remarks. Whether the other isn't talking because he physically can't, or simply because he doesn't want to anymore, Emile isn't sure which one was worse. At least the man still seems to have some semblance of himself in his broken form, if the ‘I told you so’ look he gave at learning that Emile and Patton were married and the way he had flipped off Emile when he tried to take back his phone were any indication. But something was still very wrong, even aside from the horrific meld of flesh and metal that his body showcased. The messy fissures and revealed wires between body plates were certainly concerning, and Emile had nearly thrown up when he first saw them, but even more concerning was how empty and broken the other’s eyes were. “I’m… not sure what’s happening,” Emile replies quietly, and he hears Patton ask for him to stay safe before trying to mute the phone against his sweater. 

“R-Rem-my! Is that y-you?” Curiosity getting the best of him, Emile steps forward to peek slightly through the open door. “It’s be-en so long! Ro-Ro and I m-missed you!” A somewhat skittish looking figure steps more into the light as Remy approaches them, and Emile’s stomach sinks as he recognizes him. 

Though Emile has seen him in some of the worst possible situations one could be in, Virgil has certainly looked a lot better. His figure is gaunt, clothes far too baggy on his slim frame to not be concerning, and parts of his outfit are torn to reveal the metallic wiring worming their way under his skin. Unlike Remy, who seemed to be able to conceal most of his new mechanical parts under clothing, half of Virgil’s face is metal plating, the wires kept behind them spilling out and over his neck where his throat seemed to be especially messed up. Emile isn’t much of a robotics person, always more interested in how living organisms functioned than automated ones, but if he had to guess, the glitchy, stuttered tone was due to the damage on his throat. And then, just as Emile starts to become used to the sight in front of him, Virgil holds up his left hand and Emile’s stomach sinks even more. “Ro-Ro, s-say hi to our fri-end!”

Whether Virgil’s hand is a stump or merely encased in the metallic figure, it doesn't make the imagery less creepy. Some sort of hand puppet is attached, and Emile swears he sees their eyes blinking lazily as Virgil bobs their little arm side to side to wave at Remy, who hesitantly waves back. But even worse than the puppet itself is the way it's dressed. 

A crudely made, smiling face. A white shirt with a red stripe going diagonally downwards from its right shoulder. Though made with rudimentary skill, it isn't hard to see who the puppet is made in the likeness of. 

Emile doesn’t even realize an audible noise, a sound full of horror and sadness and who knew how many other emotions, has left his throat until he hears Patton’s voice softly trying to calm him down. 

The next few minutes pass in a blur of loud and stuttered conversation from Virgil, soft reassurances from Patton, and worrying silence from Remy. It was only once Remy had softly directed the other in another direction, leaving Emile watching numbly as the other’s figure stumbles down the hall still trading words with the puppet on his hand, that he even realizes that he’s been crying. Everything seems to jump for a second, and when Emile blinks to clear his eyes, Remy is suddenly kneeling in front of him wearing a surprisingly concerned expression. 

“Did…is Roman…?” Emile asks quietly, already knowing the answer. Remy only looks away, eyes filled with a near indescribable amount of guilt and sadness, but his lack of a response is all the confirmation the other needs. 

* * *

_The alarms had gone off while Patton and Emile were heading back to their rooms after a particularly rough day of testing. Hands tentatively linked as they walked, Patton trying to draw out a laugh from the other with a few bad puns, they both jumped as an earsplitting siren filled the air._

_And even though Emile hadn’t been trusted enough by the subjects to be let in on the plan itself, he still knew what this meant, and he quickly changed which direction they were headed in. Pulling Patton after him as he fell into a frantic sprint, the other followed without a single moment of hesitation, only asking what was going on as they rounded a corner._

_“We need to get the others and get out,” was Emile’s hurried response as he finally fell to a stop in front of the door leading to the main control room. As his free hand shakily rose to the keypad barring the door from access, he felt Patton’s hand squeeze his own as if to tell him it was going to be alright, and he squeezed back thankfully._

_“Not that I’m against this, but... Em, what’s-?”_

_“They’re escaping,” Emile whispered under his breath as the door beeped quietly, the light above the keypad flashing green to show he had been granted access. “And damn my life if I’m not going to try to help.”_

_As soon as the words had left his mouth, Patton was shoving the door open and pulling Emile into the room after him. A light kick against the door to ensure it closed all the way, and then he was off to the other side of the room, leaving Emile to take the monitors nearest to him._

_“Doors needing authentication are shut down,” Patton said a few moments later, voice surprisingly level as his monitors beeped and then shut down. Emile nodded in response, knocking a few messy piles of notes to the floor so he could properly access the keyboard in front of him._

_A few presses of a few buttons, a password that wasn’t as secret as Remus thought it was, and then… “Collars temporarily disabled. They should be able to get out of signal before it turns back on.”_

_“Distract Remus next?”_

_“No, I can handle that. You find the subjects, make sure they get out alright… they trust you enough to accept your help.”_

_They worked in tandem, disabling everything they could before leaving the control room and braving the halls once again. It was more unsettling, Emile thought as they ran, to have seen nobody so far than to actually run into the other scientists, but he tried not to think about that. Just focused on his and Patton’s hands, which were interlocked once more, and tried to memorize this moment._

_Because right now, as he gasped for breath and looked over at the man next to him, Emile was seeing Patton in a way that made his heart race for reasons other than the sprint he was in. Because Patton, while still carrying that sadness in his eyes that he always held, had a look of determination and surety about what they were doing. They were flashing with a sense of purpose, a sense of pride at finally having the chance to do something right, and the smallest yet realest of smiles was pulling at the corners of his mouth. His lab coat had been shed a while ago, revealing a rumpled, blue shirt with an outline of a cat on the chest that looked so much nicer on him than the white, and the shorter sleeves fully showed off the many colorful bracelets adorning his wrists._

_Emile had seen many sides of Patton. He’d seen the way his eyes sparkled with tears after laughing too hard at a bad pun, and the way that tears trailed down his face after a nightmare. He’d seen the protective look he always wore when the men he’d come to practically adopt got hurt, and he’d seen the way he smiled ever so softly when they in turn joked about him being their dad. He’d seen the way the other still remained who he was at heart, even through being forced to stay in a place like this, and he admired that part of Patton more than he could possibly say._

_But right here, seeing the other look so genuinely happy, so certain about his actions, turning to smile gently at the other as they rounded another corner together? Emile thought that this was his favorite view of Patton he’d ever had the honor of seeing, and he wanted that seared into his memory before…_

_And as if he could read the other’s mind, Patton squeezed his hand gently. “Whatever happens,” Patton started softly, turning to shoot Emile a look so fragile that he thought he might cry, “I’m… I’m glad I met you. Glad we had the chance to try and save the others.”_

_The split in the hallways was just one corner away, now. Left, to where the subjects would most likely still be stuck in the labyrinth of halls that made up the testing area, and right, to where the other scientists would most likely be trying to reverse the damage Emile and Patton had just caused in their own control room. Emile managed a small smile in return, quickly blinking away the beginning of tears. “Me too,” was all he managed to say, but Patton’s grin just grew softer, and he thought the other knew what he really meant._

_There was one last squeeze of their hands before letting go, and they turned the last corner together before they’d go their separate ways, only to run into someone sprinting the other way. Subject 010, Roman, looked surprisingly relieved to see them, and after a few seconds of stunned silence from both parties, he grinned widely. Instantly, Roman had grabbed Emile’s hand, who in turn latched back onto Patton’s, dragging them both down the hall and pulling them through a doorway._

_“Just run,” he said quickly, only hesitating for a second before pulling Patton into the first hug Emile thought they’d ever had the chance to experience. “We appreciate whatever you did to help, but.. I know you two are nearly as trapped as we are, and I don’t want to just leave you behind. Run, and don’t get caught. We’ll… if we scatter, they can’t find all of us, y’know?” Their hug lingered for a moment longer, Patton whispering something unintelligible that Roman nodded softly to in response, before they both reluctantly pulled away. Turning to look at Emile, he held his hand for a handshake which the other quickly accepted, nodding seriously before Roman pulled back his hand. “Besides… we’ll all meet up someday. Out there. Once time has passed and these monsters aren’t on our asses. We’ll find eachother... the heroes of the story always reunite, right?”_

_Emile had to crack a small smile at that and, before either of the two could think, he was pulling Roman into a proper hug. “Stay safe,” he whispered, somewhat choked up, before pulling back and nodding towards the door. Roman looked a little stunned, but a large grin overtook his face once more as he took a few quick steps back._

_“Stay safe,” he whispered in response. And with a few more steps backward, Roman Rose had disappeared back into the hall, presumably to meet up with the others and escape._

_And even though they both know they needed to move, that they didn’t have the luxury of standing there in their thoughts, they did so anyway. Finally, Emile broke the silence, voice incredibly fragile with hope. “... Can we do that? Can… can we leave?”_

_“They killed my parents when they captured me,” Patton said breathlessly. “Sister got away, ‘nd she’s too smart to get caught. If they haven’t caught her by now, they never will. Only my life on the line, now. You?”_

_A giggle bubbled up in Emile’s chest, and it was suddenly spilling from his lips in an uncontrollable wave of emotion. “Dead, all of them dead,” he said, unable to stop the laughter. “Died years ago, I… they told me as soon as they found that putting your life on the line was more… more effective. Oh god, they don’t, can’t, they can’t hold anything over me-” Emile was gasping for breath between bouts of laughter, and Patton began squeezing his hand along to a familiar breathing rhythm. “Patton… Pat…”_

_“...My life on the line?”_

_The last few peals of broken laughter died off slowly, and Emile could feel a worry building in his chest at those words. Tentatively looking up at the other as he tried to get his breathing back under control, his gaze quickly flickered away once more. “I’m… I’m really sorry, I… it obviously wasn’t m-my choice, and I d-did all that I couId to… to make sure he didn’t hurt you and, I…” A risky look back at Patton’s face didn’t reveal the horror or disgust he had presumed the other would be feeling, and feeling a small surge of hope at that, Emile tried for a small smile. “I… c’mon Pat, I… I kinda care about you.”  
  
And there was a moment where it looked like Patton short-circuited, before an absolutely dazzling smile stretched across his face. And before Emile could even process the beauty of what he thought was the first real smile he'd seen from the other, Patton had pressed a feather light kiss against his cheek and was pulling him towards the door. _

_“I kinda care about you too, Emi.”_

* * *

  
  


“Why are you helping him?” Logan’s voice is quiet, emotionless as he stands at attention in the corner of the surveillance room. “You’ve told us time and time again. Either Picani and Foster were dead, as we can clearly see that they are not, or they left us here to rot, which seems to be the most logical notion. Should you not be enacting a plan of ‘revenge’ of some sort at this point in their arrival?” 

Dominic chuckles, a mechanical, grating sound that echoes eerily around the small room “Oh, Logan… I would think that, after all these years, we’ve matured beyond the childish concepts of revenge.”

“Of course,” Logan says, voice not changing from its level tone. “I share that same view. I merely thought, from what you have previously said-”

“After all,” Dominic continues, “They’re already being so helpful. Only a few hours in, and he's already found your remote. Give him another few hours, and who knows? Remy’s presence seems to be enough protection in a place like this… I’m surprised he’s held on this long, but I suppose it’s a stroke of luck on our end to have another expendable player in this little game. And with enough little pushes from our end…" In the reflection of the monitors, Logan notes that Dominic's eyes glow a faint yellow at that, and he can feel what little expanse of skin he has left shiver. "Picani has always seemed gullible enough, and his actions only solidify that. I’m certain he won’t find reason not to trust us.”  
  
Logan’s right hand raises to grip at his chest, distantly feeling distaste for the grating noise of metal fingers on the music box inside his torso. He considers winding the painful object, just to get the other back for a second, to see if this was truly the plan of action Dominic wanted to take and not just the floaty and corroded thoughts of one who had been put through far more torture than anyone deserves. The music always seems to bring Dominic back to himself, and it’s almost worth the pain that pulls at Logan’s body at every note, but… 

In the reflection of the monitors, Logan once again catches Dominic's eyes, which are now directed towards him. "...Wouldn't you agree, Logan?" For as small as they are, the pinpricks of yellow that gleam at him seem to take up his entire vision, growing brighter and brighter until-

Dominic's baby blue eyes stare back at him innocently, and Logan blinks in confusion. 

And then, sighing quietly, the whistle of air against metal sounding faintly in his ears, Logan shakes his head the slightest amount. What even was the real Dominic, at this point? Who was to say that the plan that sounded just the tiniest bit too wrong in Logan’s ears wasn’t the right thing to follow? He loves Dominic, trusts him to the ends of the earth... so why is he questioning this? 

Logan’s hand drops from the music box, and his limbs creak as he makes his way over to the other in perfectly sequenced movements. "Of course I agree."

“Perfect." Dominic smiles at that, the brief glimpse of a fang being revealed, and a marred arm slowly raises to lightly pick at the scales adoring the side of his face. "After all, we now have access to the outside world. All we need is to get rid of these collars, fool the facial recognition software at the exits, and find a way to properly blend in with society. Picani is already doing a splendid job of collecting the remotes that belong to these blasted collars… and once we are free of them, we can borrow his and Patton’s skins in return for all the pain they’ve caused us. I’m certain Remus didn’t find it necessary to remove their faces from the database… after all, they were in such a hurry to leave us behind, why would they return? The facial recognition software should allow us to pass through the doors when we look like them.”

And for the first time in far too long, Logan feels something. It’s faint, and it feels almost detached from his being, but it’s unmistakably fear. His expression does not change, though, and neither does his position behind Dominic. Voice still as level and emotionless as ever, Logan begins to speak. “But Dominic, there are only two available personages of which skins could be of use: that being of Patton Foster and Emile Picani.” The way he says this so factually should sound wrong, and Logan knows this, but the detached sense of fear and wrong that had sparked up so faintly before are already beginning to dissipate. “Two skins to be used, and yet, there are four remaining beings within these walls who could benefit from the use of them. I don’t-“

“One for me, and one for you!” Dominic cheerily cuts him off one final time and, finally turning away from the screen, his gaze connects fully with Logan's. Blue eyes swirl back to a glowing yellow, and the smile he's wearing morphs into something truly terrifying. “Who said we needed more than that?” 


End file.
